Mar 06, 2006 02:53
My teacher of English wants me to make words here. She said using this box in the bookroom will help me to talk. Help me to write.
I come here from another tribe, where the girls would not accept me. They feared me, and they feared my skills and my talent. In this tribe there are packmates like me. Ones who know to fight, know to use the power of the land. I will work hard for them to accept me into their pack. I want to learn of these new people, and the new land I find myself in.
The elders speak about me, though I do not know what they say. They talk alone about where they think I should belong. While they plan, others teach me more of the language of my childhood. I've remembered much of my old tongue at the tribe I left before coming here. Now I am learning how to press buttons to make words on a "joornal".
I must go. The elders have returned and wish to speak to me.
journal,
friends,
school